His King Sleeps
by ajj7sunhawk
Summary: A Conrart POV, From present, going back to Lion of LuttenBurg days. Story is about loyalty & answers what drives a man a little. Also a tribute to those who defend those who would reject them because of prejudice. Read & Review. I own nuts


Hey you can take this however you want (as love towards king or something else.) grin Oh by the way I dislike "little Lord Brat" so regardless of who is involved I will right that conceited little airhead out of any fic.

Really not sure what motivate the story. I watched this particular episode ages ago, I guess it impacted me more than I had originally thought. So this is a Conrart POV and goes back to his being the Lion of Lutenburg. This is partly about prejudice and is a salute for all those who fought and are loyal to thier homelands/family/people inspite of facing daily prejudice and rejection.

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His king slept, his protector quietly standing at the door, gazed at the innocent countenance. As Yuri kicked off the covers, Conrart silently walked into the room, to tuck-in the young royal. Yuri was alone for once, Wolfram having taken Greta to the Von Beilefeld estate for a visit.

Conrart found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand whisper soft, stroked a single bang of jet black hair. Being a man of action he seldom allowed himself the time to reminisce about the past. Tonight though he was unable to help himself.

The war, that blasted waste of a war. He had led soldiers on a mission he knew was suicide. And they had followed him -- by the hundreds into hell.

No one knew how close he had come that day to abandoning the Demon Kingdom. No one.

He had ridden though deserted streets with soldiers willing to die to protect the Demons, and there had been no parade, no wishes of good will, no blessings of success. The city had been eerily silent, as the halfing army had ridden through its streets, the silence had weighted on him as further rejection. What had cut the deepest was his younger brother, whom he had cared for – adored, had not even bothered to say a final goodbye.

Perhaps that was the clearest symbol of the future, there really was no hope for half breeds. Wolfram may be king in the future and his rejection of all that Conrart was, Wolfram's disgust, indicated better than anything that Demon kingdom had no niche for half-breeds.

So he begun questioning why.. why did he want to bother fighting? Why lead an army to their death, in order to protect people who didn't care, didn't want them, hated them even. He felt rage as he rode that day, it swelled inside him, rooted in pain, in loneliness, in rejection.

The words to halt the march, to turn and ride away, maybe form a new kingdom, far from pure blood human and demon lands, to leave this stinking war, and hopeless battle behind, burned in his throat.

A scent halted the words, a flash of blue before his eyes. He looked up to see flowers raining down. Petals of the deepest blue. "Conrart stands tall" rained on the rag-tag army, awe, hope and a strange joy rippled through the army. They had not been forgotten, not abandoned.

For Conrart there was something else, he caught a flower in full bloom and breathed it in deeply. The familiar jasmine-like scent of the flower soothed him, but there was another scent that mixed with the flowers. It was a masculine scent, an unfamiliar one, and it tugged at the soldiers' soul. For a second he felt dizzy as the scent seemed to overpower him. It called to him, made promises, the scent wrapped itself around the soldier, making elusive demands.

Then it was gone, Conrart shook his head, clear of fanciful thoughts, of doubts. He was a soldier of the Demon Kingdom, he was a protector and regardless of acceptance or rejection, HE WOULD STAND TALL. Like an old worn cloak, he discarded disdainfully his earlier thoughts, his eyes clear with purpose, he would lead, he would fight and he would win.

The army rode off into the unforgiving night.

As he watched his King sleep, Conrart wondered if the boy was aware of how much that first encounter of theirs had impacted on him. Now of course Conrart knew it had been Yuri, who had given him back his determination that night. Even before the Demon bowl incident Conrart had know it was Yuri, his scent, the elusiveness that had wrapped around him, he had experienced it again. When Adelbert had almost killed Yuri, when Conrart had seen the Boney take the killing blow that he had been too far to halt, his heart had seemed to stop.

It had only begun to beat again when he drew his King into his fierce embrace, when he had breathed in that unique scent that was Yuri. In that confusion of emotions, he felt the scent once again wrap around his heart, his soul. And he recognized it. He had know than, as he knew now, while he guarded Yuri's body, Yuri had saved Conrart's soul.

Smiling at the sleeping king, it had always amused Conrart that people had imagined that is was because of Julia that the soldier was so loyal to Yuri. The truth was actually the opposite, Conrart now understood, that he had been drawn to Julia, because she would become Yuri. She was a passive image of what Yuri was. Julia was dreams without action, dependency, softness and unquestioning sacrifice. Yuri was a force of nature, he had a softness that hid a core of pure strength, of courage and will unyielding. He would sacrifice, but he would question, find ways around it – change what he didn't like, he would always seek new options to save everybody. Yuri was no quiet dreamer, he was a visionary, and uniquely he had the strength to make those visions a reality.

While many did not see it, Yuri was becoming independence personified. He was still young, still maturing and he was swiftly growing out of his youthful dependency. Which was why, Conrart knew that the young King would forge a future that none could anticipate. It was also why Wolfram's relationship with Yuri would never mature, Wolfram needed to be needed, and Yuri would never be able to provide the kind of focused attention and reliance that Wolfram needed to be secure.

It didn't bother the soldier at all, he wanted Yuri to be strong and independent. Conrart was secure in himself, and he knew that regardless of how high his King soared, he would match the height. He would be the wind that supported the King, gave him the freedom to soar even higher. 20 years before his birth, the young man sleeping before him, had claimed the soul of a soldier, and Conrart would be anything and everything that Yuri needed, to make Yuri's visions a reality.

Conrart brought the sheets around his King, tucking him in. He was about to withdraw when a warm hand suddenly grasped his, and Conrart looked into bright black eyes, gleaming at him in the dark. "I knew you were there Conrard." Yuri said in a disturbed sleep smoky voice. "I'm cold, I dreamed that you were in Big Cimmaron again, (_yawn..._) Don't like that dream." Yuri's eyes were closing in sleep, his hold on the solder's hand did not cease. Conrart tried to pull his hand gently away. Yuri turning suddenly jerked Conrart's hand to him. Yuri tucked Conrart's fist beside his cheek, and cuddling his forearm like a soft toy, muttered softly "_mine, my Conrad_" and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Bewildered, touched and slightly amused, thinking that Yuri was only needing some comfort from his dream. The soldier carefully lay on top of the covers, beside his king. He fell asleep while patiently waiting for Yuri to release his arm.


End file.
